


The People Under The Stairs

by opheliac_fairy



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Horror, Kid Fic, Uther is evil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 20:31:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1578572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opheliac_fairy/pseuds/opheliac_fairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With thirteen-year-old Merlin’s mother sick and about to be evicted, he resorts to stealing gold coins from his landlord, Uther Pendragon, only to find a terrible secret hidden in the walls. Based on the movie by Wes Craven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The People Under The Stairs

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I know this is a VERY weird thing to write. But, I had the idea at like three in the morning and it's stuck with me and I think the idea will only leave me alone if I write it.  
> I'll only continue it, however, if it receives positive feedback, because I'm very skeptic that this'll go down well.

♫

Merlin didn’t have it very easy. At only thirteen, he lived alone with his mother in a one-bedroom flat in a busy town full of what his mother called “bad influences”. But his mother was ill and bedridden, and could no longer work. Merlin, being the proactive boy he was, tried his hardest to get part-time jobs to help pay the rent. His mother thanked him and ruffled his hair ever time he brought his measly paycheck home, but it was never enough, and they both knew that.

But it wasn’t all bad. Merlin had two friends in the complex, adults named Lance and Gwaine. Lance was a pretty boy who often took care of the adult matters Merlin was too young to understand, and Gwaine was a “bad influence”.

Merlin never thought about stealing, not until he’d come home from school one day and found his mother sobbing in the bedroom. He ran over to her, calling, “Mum? Mum, what is it? What’s wrong?” But Lance was at the door first, and slammed the door in his face.

Defeated, Merlin wondered stepped outside the flat into the hallway, and sat down beside the door. Gwaine was there, sitting across from him with a cigarette in his mouth. Merlin looked up to him, and asked, in a small voice, “Why’s my mum crying?”

“You’ve been evicted, mate,” said Gwaine, huffing out smoke.

“What?” Merlin’s eyes went wide.

He nodded. “The contract clearly states that if you don’t pay the rent within three days, you owe triple or get evicted, and you don’t got triple, do you?”

“No…”

“Didn’t think so.” He took in a puff of his cigarette and breathed out the smoke. “But I know a way you can get triple, and then some.”

♫

Lance, Gwaine, and Merlin had sat down for dinner together that night in Merlin’s flat. They had been eating in silence, until Gwaine piped up, playfully punching Merlin’s shoulder, “So, mate, you change your mind?”

Merlin shook his head, “No, I’m still not doing it.”

“Doing what?” asked Lance.

“Nothing!” hissed Merlin.

Gwaine smiled, “I asked Merlin if he wanted to get some extra money, but he’s too chicken shit.”

“Why’s that?”

“He wants me to steal!” squeaked Merlin.

They were quiet for a moment, until Lance said softly, “Times are tough. Who are we stealing from?”

“The landlord,” said Gwaine over a forkful of food. “Uther Pendragon.”

He shrugged. “He has plenty of money. I’m sure he won’t mind if we take just enough for the rent.”

“Maybe some medical bills for Hunith,” Gwaine suggested, “Come on, Merlin. Be a man. You’re thirteen years old now, it’s time you start providing for your family.”

Merlin pouted. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

♫

Arthur Pendragon’s room was white and delicate, with slight touches of red in the toys and pillows. He, himself, wore a red tunic and brown trousers, his blond hair cut in a conservative haircut and politely parted. He was bent over and peaking into the vent, a big, bright smile on his face. With a giggle, he pulled a plate out from the vent and sat straight up in his chair.

The door creaked open, and Arthur had to keep from jumping. His father, Uther, peaked inside with a dubious frown. “Have you finished your dinner?” he asked, stepping into the room and over to his son.

“Yes, father,” said Arthur. He handed Uther the plate and knife with a polite smile.

He turned away, and then stopped. Very slowly and very stoic, he asked, “Where’s your fork?”

Arthur’s eyes went wide. “O-oh! I’m sure it’s around here somewhere, it must’ve just fallen!” He fell down to his knees and felt around the floor. A thin, pale hand with long, white fingernails reached out of the vent, and handed Arthur the fork. He snatched it, quickly patting the hand and shoving it back in the vent. Popping back up, and held the fork out for his father. “See! It’s right here!”

Uther took it, looking at it very sternly. Without looking up, he said in a hard voice, “You’ve been bad.”

“What? No, I haven’t!”

“Don’t play dumb with me, mister,” he looked up to his son, “You’ve been feeding them again.”

♫

Merlin was dressed in a blue and brown scout’s uniform, complete with navy blue shorts and red necktie. He held onto a large paper bag with boxes of cookies inside in one hand, and a blue scout’s cap in the other. He stood outside the Pendragon’s house nervously, his knees knocking and sweat beading on his forehead. He put the cap on over his hair and squinted his eyes at the front door. He stepped up on the porch, and could hear Gwaine’s voice in his head, calling him chicken-shit.

He forced himself to knock. When nothing happened, he rang the door bell. A slot in the wall next to the door opened up, startling him. He took a step back, eyes wide. But it slammed shut, and the door still did not open.

After a minute or two, he stepped away from the porch, and went around to the side of the house. There was another door with a window beside it, foggy and covered in cobwebs.  He hesitated, but then reminded himself that this was for his mother, and knocked.

Still nothing.

Merlin stepped away. There was a small, hand-made pond to the side, but it was deep and had no fish in it. He stepped over to it, and poked his fingers in the water. He picked up a small, perfectly round rock, and tossed it in the water. It splashed, and sunk down beyond where Merlin could see.

“Can I _help_ you?”

Merlin looked up, startled by the sternness in Uther’s voice. He stood up straight, clutching the bag in his hands. Uther was an aging man with a receding hairline, His face was pale and wrinkled, and Merlin wondered if all rich old men looked like that. He looked at Merlin with an intense disliking, as if he were dirty. Merlin didn’t think he was dirty. He bathed almost every day.

“Hi, my scout troop is selling cookies, and I was wondering if you’d like to buy some,” said Merlin, stumbling over his words nervously.

“We watch what we eat in this house,” said Uther with disdain.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Well…Could I use your bathroom? They keep us out here all day with nowhere to take a leak.”

“No.” Uther slammed the door shut.

“Oh come on,” Merlin cried, “Please!”

But Uther was gone.


End file.
